Scenes From A German Butcher Shop
by LuckyDuck932
Summary: Someone wise once said, "Life is like a box of chocolates - you never know what you might get." Perhaps it is best to eat them all? A series of ficlets revolving around the gluttonous Augustus Gloop and his family. Set usually pre-Wonka Tour, but that is flexible. Prompts are encouraged!
1. A Loss

**I've been having several conversations about Augustus Gloop and his family and their characterization with several people. And out of my boredom, I decided to turn some of the ideas that we came up with in those conversations into a little array of drabbles and ficlets. And because it's final summer vacation, I'm willing to take prompts for this as well as other drabbles involving other characters, so send me your ideas! Reviews would be very much appreciated~**

**A Loss**

Like many deaths regarding old age, her death was expected and unexpected. Cared for so deeply by all the family, the murmur of her imminent passing was on everyone's mind; but when it actually happened it took the Gloops by surprise. Just like that, she was just gone.

She had been a humble little thing and she wasn't the prettiest, either. Nothing fancy about her and she might have needed something akin to a makeover towards the later days. Or at least something to mask some of her pungent odor.

When she sang, she rumbled and moaned, stubborn as a mule at some points. But she got the job done one way or another.

She sure had a large appetite. It was natural - she was theirs after all.

She wasn't fond of new technology either - she only liked to play cassette tapes. This of course meant she liked the oldies but goodies. She'd brighten up their days as she played outdated copies of the hits of the 80's, bringing Mr. and Mrs. Gloop back in their own personal time machine once they decided to dig some of their favorites out.

But no more "99 Luftballons"to carry them all away.

She was dead.

Bittersweetness followed the moments after they carried her away. Augustus watched as the truck pulled her down, down the road and then finally, turning the corner, out of site.

"We knew it was her time, anyway," Mr. Gloop said briskly. The mourning needed to be over with soon as possible because the shop opened in twenty minutes.

"I can't believe she made it this long," Mrs. Gloop mused, shaking her head. "How old was she, Dietrich? Twenty?"

"It's such a long time for a refrigerated truck to keep working," he said with a sigh. "But we needed a replacement for a long time."

"I'll check the newspapers if there's anyone selling theirs," Mrs. Gloop said as she and Mr. Gloop and their son went back inside their butcher's shop, ready to start a new day without their truck.

Their loyal meat truck.


	2. A Good Yarn

**AN: A fun little detail I noticed while watching the Burton film - all three Gloops are wearing sweaters that look a little handmade. My new headcanon is that Mrs. Gloop knits, so, of course, write a drabble about it.**

**A Good Yarn**

The basement of the butcher shop was a museum to the Gloop family's history in the meat industry - an odds and ends collection of dull, out of use knives, ancient grinders, and old signs framed by cobwebs. But upstairs, above their apartment, the attic was a shrine to what happened behind closed doors, of the personal history of the family.

Mrs. Gloop had ventured upstairs to find something - a suitcase/winter clothes/Christmas decorations she honestly couldn't remember what she was looking for when she stumbled across a box that she forgot all about. Smiling to herself, she pulled it up and decided to take the journey down memory lane, where her old hobby went to die.

All parents went through the same thing upon welcoming children into their lives. Her father allegedly used to paint before having a family. But she was little, there was no time for to pull out an easel and sit at the mountains' base and paint the sky. Her mother's hobby was cooking, so it never went away with the addition of a daughter.

But before Augustus arrived, she used to knit. Beautiful things. Rich, thick sweaters. Detailed cabled socks. Soft, complex afghans.

And the box housed them all. They were all baby things, things she had knitted prior to or while expecting her son. Bonnets. Booties. Blankets. The sweetest little red cabled sweater that she had knitted in the 6-month size rather than the newborn, anticipating that any child she would have would _never_ be able to squeeze into such a tiny thing. (Her choice had proven useful, as Augustus was a little more than twelve pounds when he born.)

As her baby grew (rather quickly, at that) out of the knitted wardrobe she had never gotten around to making much of anything for him. If anything, it was never as intricate as the things she knitted prior to his birth. A Stockinette hat. A few washcloths. A scarf, maybe. She just didn't have time with keeping up with her ever-growing child and husband's business. There was alway something - customers to attend, meals to cook, books to keep.

But Augustus would be turning eight in February. He was getting older and (as much as this brought a tear to her eye) he wouldn't be needing his dear mama as much anymore.

Who knows? She set the sweater down in the box and pulled out a pair of needles. Maybe she could find some time to pick knitting up again?


	3. A Dream

**AN: Sorry there was no drabble last night - Tony Awards were yesterday~ I would like to thank the lovely Mel for giving me the prompt of "dreams". So I decided to write about Factory trauma. Definitely not 2005-movie based because, well, Augustus didn't really care he was near-death several times ("But I taste so good!"). I'm going with more musical (ya know, if he survived, because that didn't sound likely given "Auf Wiedersehen, Augustus Gloop") mostly because his mother was so destroyed by her son's plight (compared to her somewhat cavalier reaction from **_**Willy Wonka**_**; in the musical, it breaks me a little bit when she says, "He's not an impurity! He's my little boy!" and don't get me started on his "I love you, mama!" before the end of the song) but really, I think this is just me writing ***_**some**_*** interpretation of Augustus and not a specific one. **

**A Dream**

Twelve months. Twenty pounds lost. Two days a week spent at a therapist's office. Thousands of tears shed. All of this lead to Augustus' "recovery". Or at least made a dent in all of the psychological damage that the Wonka tour had left him with - all of them with.

Oh, how sore the wounds were when they were first cut. Having to watch her baby boy nearly drown and shoved through the plumbing, only to then be ridiculed by those _creatures_ and face what could have been a boiling death in the Fudge Room, it was too much for a mother to endure! You can bet there were many tissues scrunched and eyeliner smears within those twelve months on her behalf.

But Augustus was saddled with the pain the deepest of all. He could still remember how sweet, sweet, _horrible_ chocolate guzzled him up, only able to take in brief sputters of breath when he bobbed to the surface - how something he loved so much tried to kill him.

And then that pipe - pulling him closer, closer, no matter how he tried to splash and kick and get away there was no escape as it sucked him under the surface and back up through the plexiglass plumbing before eventually disappearing to a hot, swirling vat of chocolate.

It was a nightmare come true.

A nightmare he relived time and time again when he was triggered. He would be fine and then, all of a sudden, he'd be in that factory again. Hot, melted chocolate devouring him, feeling like death was so close.

But the doctors all claimed he was getting better. Everyday, he was making steps to build a stronger life than what had been crumbled from the "incident" (what everyone referred to it as, usually caught on a whisper if mentioned by his mother.)

Try as they might, however, they couldn't completely stop from the the flashbacks seeping through his dreams. The fall. The chocolate. The suction. The pipe. The vat. The little men. All over again.

He would awake sobbing, screaming, thrashing, trying to escape the river that was never there. Only bedsheets. His mother and father would rush into his bedroom. The light would snap on. His mother wrapped her arms around him. Held him close. Stroked his hair and rubbed small circles on his back.

"_It's only a dream, liebchen. Only a dream. Mama's here. You won't be hurt. Mama's here._"

And Augustus knew that (as he once crawled out of his room because he was too terrified to go back to sleep) when he had been comforted, Mama would go back to her bed and would have to be comforted by Vatti, her own back rubbed and her own tears brushed away.

She hated this almost as much as Augustus.. Hated seeing her son in pain, hated seeing her son so hurt by a dream . . . more than a dream.


	4. A Habit

**AN: I'll be on my tour of Europe in . . . thirteen days now, and have been worrying a little bit about if my roommate snores/steals the sheets/thrashes. So a product of my worries is this little drabble. This is actually set in the world of my other fic **_**Drop Your Defenses**_ **where Augustus is a tuba player in the marching band. (The other tuba player mentioned also makes an appearance there!)**

**A Habit**

Everyone, no matter how saintly or angelic or pleasent they seem, has at least one annoying habit. It could be popping their gum a little too loudly. Or leaving the toilet seat up. Or drinking the last of the milk and never telling anyone until they've filled their bowl full of cereal. But our gum popping and milk-drinking and toilet-seat leaving-upping is what makes us all a little more human, a little more relatable because of our small, bothersome quirks. And usually, if we're decent people, we try and correct them for the sake of not driving our loved one bonkers.

But what about those habits that happen when we aren't in control of ourselves? As we dip into sleep, our conscious selves fall into a dream world while our physical selves do whatever they please in bed. Snore, snort, roll around, wrap ourselves like a burrito in the layers of blanket.

The thing is that we're not really aware if we do anything annoying in our sleep until we have spent a night sharing a bed with somebody else.

Augustus was well aware that his parents have several complaints about how their spouse slept.

"Your mother is not very good at sharing sheets," his father once told him in secrecy in the shop's meat locker at they were digging through slabs of lamb. "I'll wake up freezing in the middle of the night with only a sliver of the coverlet."

"He snores," his mother said once as she asked Augustus to help her roll some beige-colored yarn into a ball. "You cannot blame me for stealing the sheets at night - I have to cover my ears to even go to sleep."

And he knew that they had plenty of stories about others' sleeping habits.

"I had a friend who spent the night once when I was in school and she could carry on a whole conversation in her sleep," his mother laughed as the family was gather around the table for after-dinner coffee and dessert. "Of course, it was a whole lot of nonsense."

"Your Uncle Heinrich has shoved Aunt Viktoria out of bed several times because he dreamt he was fighting someone," his father added with a chortle.

But Augustus wasn't aware he had one bizarre sleeping habit of his own.

That was, of course, until he had to share a bed with someone else for a few nights.

It was during the Marching Band's Spring Break trip when he had to stay a hotel room with three other boys. He was completely oblivious to if he snored, or stole sheets, or rambled gibberish, or shoved people in his sleep because back when he was a child he didn't many friends to stay over or invite him to their house for the night. No one ever informed him about how he slept.

Their first day in New York was very filled with activity. After a long bus ride to the city, they explored Times Square for a little bit and then grabbed dinner at a diner before rushing down Broadway to catch a musical at one of the many theatres. The show lasted until about 11 o'clock at night. As he started his day at around 4:30 am, Augustus was worn down and as soon as his head hit the pillow, he drifted off into a hard sleep.

When they had to get up the next morning to tour Radio City, Josh, a fellow tuba player, looked exhausted. "Did you sleep okay?" Augustus asked later when they were getting breakfast in the hotel's lobby, noticing how the other boy took a large coffee and had dumped (right now) three sugar packets inside of it. while Augustus took three pieces of toast off of the bread rack.

"No," he said, ripping out another Sweet and Low. "You kept me up all night with that weird finger-sucking thing you do."

"Finger-sucking . . . what do you mean?" Augustus stopped grabbing food (for once) and looked over Josh. This was the first time he ever heard this.

"You shove your two middle fingers into your mouth and suck on them and it makes this annoying slurping noise."Josh snapped a styrofoam lid on his coffee before taking a sip.

"I - " Actually, he should have figured he did something like this in his slip. There were many-a-baby photos of him both adoring the wall and displayed in albums of him taking a nap, two middle fingers of one hand stuffed into his mouth. He always assumed he outgrew the habit.

But then again, he _had_ been dreaming about the M&M World he had seen while in Times Square the other day.

"I am sorry," he said, not knowing what one should say after discovering some previous unknown sleeping habit. If anything, he thought Josh would complain about him taking up too much room in the bed they had to share for the trip.

"It's alright," Josh said after a minute of downing his coffee. "I hope I didn't kick you last night, or something. I've been told I'm a bit of a violent sleeper."

Augustus laughed and dumped two scoops of scrambled eggs onto his plate. He could live with a sleep-kicker if Josh could live with a sleep-slurper.


	5. A System

**AN: I've always believed that Mrs. Gloop runs more of the paperwork and sales side of the butcher shop while her husband really does the actual butchering. So I imagine that after years of working in the business, she would be an expert at organizing everything. Please review~ **

**A System **

In their small shop, Mr. Gloop's domain was in most of the actual butchering and selling , but Mrs. Gloop was in charge of keeping the books and the appointments and the inventory.

And twenty-five years as a butcher's wife had made Mrs. Gloop an expert in keeping up with all of the paperwork that came with the shop. A quarter of a century married into a family who had been in the meat business for generations certainly gave her an infinity of wisdom regarding how to run everything in the business and how to modify it to fit their generation's needs. And she utilized all of that wisdom into one place.

The antique roll-top desk sitting in their living room was the hub for all of the papers -notes and evaluations and budgets - and she used the many cubbies and compartments to sort the accumulating clutter.

There was a place for everything and everything in its place.

But to an outsider, her system for everything might not have made a whole lot of sense. As Mr. Gloop was often busy with dealing with the meat of the business, he wasn't fluent in his wife's manner of doing the paper work.

She would try and explain why she put everything in that fashion, but he never caught on.

(There was one evening, after Augustus had gone to bed, when they were sorting through everything from business that day. And when Mr. Gloop went through the book where his wife made all of these notations, he had felt as though he was reading a foreign language. "Elsie, how can you even read this?" he had said. "It's just a bunch of scribble and random words."

"It is all in the system, _Schatz_," she had assured him from her administrative seat before the desk. "It gets us by, yes?" )

And It did. Very well, actually.

And she knew her husband did not like to admit it.

And that proved to be problematic.

For the first time truly since before Augustus was born,, Elsie Gloop had to leave their small town and her family to visit her sister in Düsseldorf to commemorate her sister's two decades in owning a business. A weekend trip.

As her family saw her off at the train station, where she blew a kiss at the train rolled away, she said a silent prayer that Dietrich had absorbed some of the repeated lessons on the system and chaos would not ensue.

But chaos would always ensue when it was just Mr. Gloop and his young protege running the store. Augustus was only nine, still such a child and hardly good for anything other than running a broom or wiping off the counters and other such simple tasks. And that left Dietrich with sorting and cutting and organizing and ringing up sales. And keeping up with that system.

And to top it all off, Augustus was constantly going on snack breaks, more interested in his Wonka bars than taking a wet towel to the display window. And it wasn't like banning snack breaks had helped Mr. Gloop's apprentice get any sweeping done.

(He learned that lesson hard. )

And to top it all off, the inspector made his own surprise visit that Saturday. Not for a thorough examination (they had just been through the ordeal of an regular inspection) but rather for a paper in regards to that aforementioned examination.

"It's upstairs," he said, trying hard to make it not look as though the linoleum floor had not fallen from beneath him. "I'll be just a minute."

Or maybe an hour. He honestly didn't know where the inspection sheets were placed on that tsunami of papers in that desk.

And then as he bounded up the apartment stairs towards the desk, he remembered something Elsie had said to him about inspection sheets. "We answer to a higher power with inspections, so they go on the top shelf," she had explained once, beaming because she thought it was clever.

Dietrich went to the desk. Looked at the top shelf.

And low and behold, there was the inspection sheet. Clear as crystal, filled out in his wife's loopy scrawl.

Victorious, he went back down to the shop, hoping Augustus didn't eat any of the inventory while he had disappeared .

And everything went (somewhat) smoothly until Sunday when Elsie returned, having enjoyed her brief time away to visit her sister and her family, but desperate to get back to her own. After she had hugged both of them extra long and the three reunited Gloops walked back to their car, Dietrich carrying his wife's carpet bag from the weekend, did her husband admit to the system.

"It saved us," he said briefly after recounting the small anecdote from the weekend.

"I did say it was clever," Mrs. Gloop proudly said, smiling to herself.

When she was right, she was right.


	6. A Flight

**AN: It seems my first international flight is in less than three days and I admit, I'm a little nervous about it. (I've flown plenty of times before but this is my first trans-Atlantic trip.) So I decided to write about Augustus and Mrs. Gloop's flight from Germany for the Wonka tour. This might be the last one before I leave, so I thank all of the readers and would absolutely love it if you sent me a few one-word prompts to continue the series while I'm away. (Hey, it **_**is**_ **a seven hour flight and there are plenty of delays, so I have a lot of time!) Please review~**

**A Flight**

With a Golden Ticket requesting that Augustus be at the Wonka Chocolate Factory gates at ten am (sharp) on February first, there was no doubt in either Mr. or Mrs. Gloop's mind that they would not let their son reap the reward of a personal tour around a place of dreams.

Except one.

Wonka's plant was across a whole ocean from the Gloop family home in Germany. The European railroad could not carry Mrs. Gloop and Augustus to the other side of the world; they would have to take a plane.

A plane - a small, circular tube that was flung thousands of feet up in the air, hurtling at warp speed, suspended over a massive body of water.

There was no need to worry.

Mrs. Gloop had never flown, and hence, she had never been outside of continental Europe. To visit her aunt in Frankfurt, she took the train. When she and Mr. Gloop honeymooned in Spain, they took the train. When there was family emergency, she took the train. Flight was so foreign to her.

But that couldn't let her from keeping her son from visiting this shrine of sweets. She would brave the trans-Atlantic flight with her son, never let it slip that she was nervous about flying for the first time.

There was so much to do in that time between the media swarm that initially surrounded Augustus' Golden Ticket winning and when they were to fly from Munich to Wonka's factory for the tour that she tried to not let it bother her. Packing and deciding what to wear to present themselves to Willy Wonka and issuing passports.

Eventually, January twenty-ninth fell upon them and it saw the Gloop family gathered before Munich International Airport. As Mr. Gloop kissed his wife goodbye for now, he whispered "stay strong" into her ear before he turned back into the car that had whisked them from their tiny town to the city.

And as she lead Augustus through the dizzying spectacle that was the airport- baggage check, security, the rows and rows of food stalls and shops - to their gate, she did her best to stay collected. Even as they sat down, waiting for their imminent flight, she was calm for Augustus as she worked on the new mittens she was knitting for her son.

Augustus didn't seem bothered by the thought of flying, but rather excited. He was only nine, the world still bewildered every now and again.

And then their flight was called and priority boarding was to be shuffled on. They were next.

Both mother and son had been seated. But the waiting began from then as more and more people walked on board and took their seats. Augustus pressed his nose against the window and watched the flurries flutter onto the concrete of the runway. Mrs. Gloop took out her knitting. Counted the stitches. Tried to forget about the counting down seconds to take off.

The stewardess went through their show of the illuminated exits, of the seat/floatation devices, of the air masks to be used in case of an emergency. _Please secure your own mask before aiding others. _

A fastened seatbelt. A silent prayer.

And then . . . they were off.

The plane backed out of the gate, shuddered as it slowly rambled down various ways to the central runway.

It picked up speed.

_Here we go_.

Augustus' nose pressed hard against the glass as they rumbled away faster, faster, faster. His mother kept her eyes closed.

And then . . .

They were flying.

Higher, higher, higher.

"Mama!" Augustus exclaimed. "Look how small everything seems."

She wasn't sure she wanted to look. But she did. And from the small, round window of the airplane, she saw that they were parting the clouds, disappearing above the Bavarian winter. Everything did look tiny.

She laughed weakly and closed her eyes. This wasn't too bad.

She made it this far.

But little did she know that it wasn't the flight to Wonka's factory that she would need to be at her strongest for her son.


	7. A Childish Fear

**AN: I've been thinking a lot about what I used to be afraid of as a child, and it's quite ridiculous to reflect on what really bothered me when I was little. Puppets in particular for some odd reason. I didn't have similar problem with nightmares, but I did base this fic on a similar experience I had. I also believe this is a follow-up to an earlier drabble in this series; it still deals with dreams and fears that were left behind from the Wonka tour. (PS, I do enjoy David Bowie in **_**Labyrinth**_**, actually, but my sister and I were talking about how as children, the movie would have freaked us out.)**

**A Childhood Fear**

It was funny now, reflecting on it after so many years. That he used to be afraid of _that_. That a movie could have given him such nightmares. Of course, that was nearly six years ago now . . . he had been to hell and back since then with all he had been through on the Wonka tour.

_Labyrinth_ didn't seem so terrifying anymore.

He could remember the first time he watched the movie. He was four years old and for the first time since before he was born, Augustus' parents decided to go out for the night to have dinner by themselves. Augustus was disappointed that his parents were going out to eat _without him_ but at least his mother had made dinner for him beforehand. And there was a nice cherry and chocolate pie for dessert. So he easily got over not going to a restaurant. He just hoped his mother brought him home something, too.

The only other true concern for Augustus was the babysitter. Oma and Opa were unavailable that night, so they couldn't watch him. So Mrs. Gloop had to make a leap and trust her baby boy in the care of someone who was not kin for a few hours. Oh, that wasn't to say they didn't know the girl - her father was a close, old school friend of Mr. Gloop - it was just the first time that Mrs. Gloop had ever really trusted her son in the hands of someone who was not in direct relation to the family.

But you have to start somewhere.

And of course, Mrs. Gloop spent plenty of time making sure the sitter was on her level on just how to care for Augustus in frame of time they'd be gone.

But she eventually went her own way, leaving her son alone for the first time in his short life.

The name of the sitter had since slipped Augustus' mind - it might have been Tanja or it might have been Petra - but he did remember that she was pleasant enough. She heated up dinner just the way he liked it, and gave him a generous slice of the strawberry pie. And then she asked if he wanted to watch a movie.

She brought one from home, one of her favorites from when she was his age. _Labyrinth_. A classic. He'd love it.

It honestly didn't bother him that first viewing. The story of Sarah's quest to save her baby brother in the realms of a maze from Jareth the Goblin King kept his attention for the hour and a half running time. But after the movie was finished, and he took his bath, and he was tucked into bed, and read a quick book, the Goblins returned.

They were frightening. Creepy, grotesque figures looming over him, hiding under the bed, tucked in his closet, lurking just behind the door. They were _coming for him_. Someone had _wished them upon him_.

He immediately awoke before they could drag him by the ankles to the Goblin Kingdom and darted out into his parents bedroom, away from what he believe was the realm of the Goblins.

He spent the night in the spot on the bed between his mother and his father, mama desperately trying to comfort him.

And he kept on a night light until he was nearly six to ward away those bad dreams.

The babysitter - Tanja, Petra, whoever she was- was never invited back.

Mr. and Mrs. Gloop never went out to dinner by themselves again.

_How silly_, a ten-year-old Augustus reflected when he happened to stumble upon the movie on television years after he stopped believing that the Goblins were going to take him away. Hundreds of those creatures danced around their king but they didn't have the same effect on him anymore. In fact . . . why was he afraid of them at all? _They weren't that scary_.

Hardly the stuff of nightmares anymore.


	8. A Sick Day

**AN: Hey! Long time no see! I'm sorry I haven't updated these cute little fics in forever. But forever means "a very long time", yes? Anyway, this past summer I ran a RP blog, but it's currently on hiatus because school's a pain and I'm also in a play so I have no time. But with the blog, I wrote some fic with Augustus as the protagonist, so I've decided to post 'em here. Although the original intent was just to have Augustus and his family only, these fics include the other characters of **_**Charlie**_** and different universes, including several AUs that were quite popular with other RPers. **

**This one is rather apropos because I'm really sick (and just before tech week!) right now. **

**A Sick Day**

"_Are you sure you're feeling well?_"

It's January and Augustus is miserable.

It's cold and it's snowy and it's boring because Christmas Holiday just finished. There is nothing exciting going on.

And he's homesick. Augustus went home for Christmas, home to Germany. But now he's back in the States. Of course, it was much, much colder in the Alps, but it was home for him. Being wrapped up in layers and layers didn't bother him because he was back home. Being back in his hometown to visit Oma and Opa made up for the blizzard blazing around them during their stay. And besides, the Alps were a sight to behold in winter.

But now the most majestic thing about winter here was when the snow wasn't tinged grey by gas.

And if missing home was bad enough, this morning he wakes up with a splitting headache.

He's _real_ sick.

_Fantastisch._

But he has to carry on, tough through it. Because although he'd **_love_**to stay in bed and have Mama make him soup and watch Food Network he doesn't want to deal with unhappy Vatti who is left to fend for himself in the butcher shop and do all the cutting, and the sorting, and the selling.

And he and Violet are working on a project together in History. _Due in two days._

He doesn't quite know how he survived first period Algebra all the way up through lunch - which normally would have lifted his spirits immensely - but he does know that during History class, he can't concentrate.

Violet, typing away on her laptop, is working on their report. And Augustus is just there, dying. His head falls into the crook of his arm and Violet peers up from working. She eyes him.

"Are you _sure_ you're feeling well?" She looks him over, noting he's wearing sweats and looks even paler than usual. "Because you look like a mess."

"I'm fine." Augustus shuts his eyes. Lies.

"If you were fine, you'd be _helping me_."

"B-but I thought you did not like me helping?" Violet was very defensive when it came to her work - she wanted nothing but perfect.

"That's my point, Augustus," she says, sighing. "You'd be trying to get your hands all over this PowerPoint." She shakes her head. "Go to the nurse."

"I am fine."

Violet's eyes narrow. "You look like a zombie. And I don't want your sick germs. So get your butt down to the nurse or I'm dragging it."

Augustus snaps up because, really, even though he will be sixteen years old next month, he is still intimidated by Violet. "Okay."

And even though he wants to push himself and work through this, Violet does know best sometimes.


End file.
